


a city sorrow built

by am_fae



Category: Ogniem i Mieczem | With Fire and Sword (1999), Ogniem i Mieczem | With Fire and Sword - Henryk Sienkiewicz, Trylogia | The Trilogy - Henryk Sienkiewicz
Genre: ?? Not really?, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, OT3, References to Canon, a very optimistic post-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/am_fae/pseuds/am_fae
Summary: Skrzetuski's far too used to reminding himself he can't have things.





	a city sorrow built

When Jan wakes up, frozen with horror, he's in darkness. A soft pallet beneath him, clean cotton over straw; warmth on either side, gentle breathing.

_Oh. Not quite awake then._

He's not strong enough to not surrender to it. He lets himself slip away.

Helena blinks awake at his side –  _beautiful,_  the way the night clings to her eyelashes, soft on her cheek. He isn't strong enough for this. He feels light, like a piece of chaff on the wind; studies each detail of her almost desperately: doesn't close his eyes.

She curves into him, drapes over him, takes him in her arms. "Are you alright?" she says, stroking his shoulder, watching him with sad, knowing eyes.

"I am now," Jan murmurs back. It's not quite a lie. Halszka settles against him. They breathe together. The weight on his chest is a comfort, not a burden: it feels real. He imagines himself sinking, dissolving, disintegrating into nothing – the thought’s warm. He puts an arm around her waist; she hums contentedly and presses closer. He isn't strong enough for this.

"What's wrong?"

It's Bohun's voice.

Jurko props himself up on his elbows to see, dark hair a tangled mess. "Ai," he says. Shifts nearer. Jan'd confess, perhaps, with a touch of weakness, that he could've expected him – expected him, but never the concern in his eyes. Jurko trades glances with Helena before returning to him, gaze unreadable. Jan looking up finds his lips quirking automatically, a tremor of joy or grief: Jurko exhales, relieved. They lie together for a long moment afterwards in silence, tangled together, holding him close. Solid. Jan is lighter than ever, barely there, and the world seems to be falling away around him. It makes him almost dizzy; he wishes the feeling could last.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the warmth of them. Helena smells like rosemary; she'd been out in the garden earlier – or hadn’t she? He can’t remember. Surely Halszka would keep a garden –

It shouldn't hurt how much he _wants_ this.

Burrowing deeper into the covers, burying his face in Helena’s black hair, Jan mumbles, "You’re not real.”

Everything seems to stop.

The flick of a match – Helena lights the oil lamp on their bedside table. Her hands are on his shoulders. He fumbles to sit up, leans against the pillows and against Jurko’s arm around him, wonders what’s wrong. He never meant to put that look on her face – she deserves good things; he wants to give her good things (wishes more than anything that he could); he’s caused enough harm everywhere else, sometimes his hands forget they ever had any other purpose –

His chest aches where he was wounded on the Chortyca. He doesn’t want to wake up.

“Jan?” Her voice is shaky. He nods, something barely perceptible, and Helena grips his shoulders.

“Jan, it’s March. In Podlasie. Only just getting warm, right? It’s been raining lately, the roads are a mess.” The words are calm, steadying like her palms on his shoulders are steadying. He drinks her in with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “Jurko’s been here since before the winter. This morning –” Helena’s voice cracks. “This morning we woke up together. I’m your wife.”

Bohun shifts behind him; pulling him closer, bends his dark head to press kisses up Jan’s neck, ending under his jaw, and Jan shivers, curving into him. He can hear the smile in Jurko’s voice when he murmurs “Could you dream _this_?” into his ear; feels the corresponding low hum in Bohun’s throat and chest.

“Jurko was asleep, but you wanted to go out,” Helena says. “It was too muddy for the horses. So we walked instead, on the edge where the grass is so my boots wouldn’t sink. They’re blue, you know? My favorites. When it started raining again we ran under a tree like two kids. You kissed me… you never seem to tire of it.”

He doesn’t understand.

“We went home soon after – ate – I showed you where I wanted to plant the cherry trees. You told me it wasn’t bad to remember Rozłogi… Later you convinced Jurko to play while I sang, remember? We made a mess of things.” Halszka swallows. “It’s over for now. It’s over. Zbaraż and Tarnopol and everything else.” She strokes his shoulder, dark eyes shining in the orange lamplight. “You’re on leave until the end of April but you’re not there. You’re not there. You’re here with us.”

He doesn’t –

“You’re…” he says. He can’t finish. His throat is closing up, choking him – looking at her, he can’t breathe.

They always did say actions spoke louder than words. He takes her hand and turns it in his.

Feeling her pulse is automatic, second nature. He’s done the same motion a thousand times at least.

“Oh,” Jan says, and the room seems to spin.

He buries his face in his hands and tries to hold back the tears. When Jurko puts his arms around him, it’s no use – he’s crying then, quaking with it, hot eyes damp and raw. He can’t look at them. “I’m fine,” he tries to say as everything crashes down into place, “I’m fine, it’s just –”

“You always say that,” Jurko says. There’s more fondness there than anything else – a quizzical note, too, trailing up at the end like a question mark. It tugs at Jan’s heart. He reaches out for his hand blindly, grabs it and holds on.

Helena’s trembling; she smiles when he manages to look up at her. His vision is blurry, but the emotion in her black eyes is warm and clear as crystal. “I love you,” she breathes, and pulling her close against his chest Jan chokes out “I love you too.”

They stay awake until it’s light out, talking, kissing, drifting in and out of silence. Jan’s heart is still thudding; he still wants to cry with relief. When dawn comes it finds all three asleep, legs tangled up. Jan’s head is on Helena’s shoulder; Jurko’s arms are around his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> Bohun has no experience with comforting people but he's doing his best?


End file.
